Tales From Gomorrah

11 days ago

In between writing my story Gomorrah, I'm going to try to write little drabbles set in the city with the style I'm employing in the story, in order to keep myself in the mood to write the story. Here's the two I've written so far, the first of which was actually written before the story was created and was sparked by rewatching the Sin City movie. It became the first page of the game. It's an homage to the movie's opening scene. Also edited to contain the new name for the city, it originally used the old one (Metropolis), and is also presented in the original first person perspective not used in the storygame.

The Taxman

There's a saying in this city.

Turn the right corner in Gomorrah and you can find anything.

Anything.

Pretty girl on the balcony. Long blonde hair like a golden sunset. Crystal clear blue eyes. Skin white as porcelain. She's the one.

I walk up to her, she's got a cigarette dangling from her cherry red lips and is fumbling with a zippo that refuses to light. I pull out a box of matches. Light her smoke. She laughs, wispy gray clouds of smoke rising about and partially hiding her face. She looks mysterious. Exotic. Sexy as all hell.

It reminds me of those old noir movies I'd watch. The troubled private eye, being approached by the mysterious femme fatale in his office. Roles are switched here.

We chat for a bit. Her smile widens, pearly white teeth seemingly unaffected by her smoking. Must brush them. You don't see that a lot in the city these days. It's gone to shit, and with it the people's hygiene.

A gunshot pierces the quiet of the night.

I walk away, leaving her stone dead body on the ground.

-----

The Whore Town Ripper

Sick. They're all sick. They can't remain on this earth. Diseased meat. Got to clear them out before they infect the rest of the city.

I set off on my nightly excursion. Got to cure them. Got to kill them all. Only cure for their ailment is a knife to the throat.

There's one. Built like a Goddess. Dark skin, like she's made of chocolate. I want to touch her. Feel her. Make her feel like she's never felt before. No. I can't think that way. They can't infect me. Sexuality is a disease. I must eliminate the prime offenders. They can't infect the rest of the city.

She's heading into a secluded alleyway. Good. No one will find us there.

I leap down from my perch, knife in hand, landing on top of her. I lift my knife up to stick it into her face. That's when it hits me. A loud sound, like nothing I've heard before, followed by a freight train to the chest.

I fall off of my target and look to the mouth of the alley. A whore, dressed in spiked leather and wielding a smoking .45. No. I can't be beaten by whores.

"Hmph. Good job with the bait, Becky," she says as she approaches. She takes aim at me. "You know how many of my sisters you've killed?"

Tales From Gomorrah

11 days ago

@EndMaster

Not sure what quite happened, but either this was placed in Writing Workshop and you moved it to Creative Corner then back to WW or I posted it in CC and it got moved to WW. If you would, could you move it to CC?

Tales From Gomorrah

Tales From Gomorrah

Tales From Gomorrah

7 days ago

New story.

Crawl Out Through The Fallout

Those bombs are gonna drop, and when they do we'll all be fucked.

The buildings'll be reduced to ash, and we'll all be turned into cripsy pieces of bacon. Ever since we kicked those fucking Commies to Kingdom Come back in '79, people've been talking about how they're gonna nuke us. The first target on their list was probably Gomorrah, the hellhole one of the most densely populated cities in the states. I'm not going to lie and say that the thought of this pit of degeneracy going up in flames doesn't make me smile. But at the same time that'd mean that those Ruskies would be attacking American soil, and that, sir, is a no go.

But still, I'm just one man. I can't fight off a swarm of nukes, much as I want to. No. I'll just have to wait it out. And from the ashes I'll rise, like Noah from his ark, shepherding the survivors to forge a new America, a better one; one that won't succumb to the attacks of drunken cowards. I'll train them all with what I learned fighting on the Alaskan Front. They'll be unstoppable.

Then it comes. The sound of sirens, echoing through the streets. It's like a kick in the nuts. They're here. They're going to drop a bomb.

I rush into my backyard, where I've been building my bunker for the last three years in preparation for this day. I don't live in the big metropolitian area, the area that's definitely gonna get nuked first, so if I'm lucky the entire neighborhood won't get turned into ash. I open up the trap door and crawl into my hole.

Six months have passed. I've eaten up all the decent food I've brought along, steaks and porkchops and bacon. Thankfully I've got enough canned goods to last a lifetime, if I so please. But I'm not ready yet. Those Ruskies, cowards they are, know what they're doing. They probably bombed the whole city a few times over. If I leave my bunker I'll get a blast of radiation right to the face, and the world's new leader wouldn't exactly be leader material if he turned into some tumor-ridden freak.

A year has passed. I'm growing a bit antsy, I'm sure it'll be good enough to go out now but I know that whatever awaits me won't be friendly. I'll wait. Just to be on the safe side. I'll wait.

Five years have passed. I've taken to talking to two little paper figures to fight the loneliness. I've got two good friends, Jerry and Stuart. Jerry's an asshole, believe me.

A decade has passed. Jerry and Stuart are happily married to Martha and Naomi, and Naomi's with child. Little does Stuart know that the child is Jerry's. He'll make a good father nonetheless.

Two decades have passed. Since Stuart snapped upon finding out Jerry fucked his wife and killed them all, I've been all alone. Myself, as sole law enforcer in our little town, had to execute Stuart for his crimes. I cried the entire night after it happened.

Three decades have passed. I think the fallout has cleared. It's time to leave this hole.

I push open the rusty trapdoor, sunlight blinding me momentarily. I hiss, almost retreating back to my hole, but no. The world needs its new leader.

When I open my eyes again and blink a few times to adjust to the brightness, I see my home has fallen into disrepair, along with all the other homes on the block. Damn, the Ruskies did get this area.

I exit the bunker fully and walk into the street, expecting to be met by mutant freaks. Instead I find nothing. It's desolate, empty, eerie. I swear I see shadows moving in the second story windows of the office building across the street but I can't be too sure.

I continue on into the city proper, eyes clenched shut as I approach it, expecting the worst. What causes me to open my eyes is the honk of a horn, and an angry voice shouting, "Hey, you greasy hobo, get the fuck outta the road!"

I see a man in a fancy car, leaning out of the window and scowling at me. Shocked, I stumble away, looking around. No mutants. No bandits. No desolation. The city looks almost the same as it always has, but newer, sleeker, yet nonetheless just as seedy as I remember. I turn to a newstand.

"MAYOR GORRISTER WINS RE-ELECTION IN LANDSLIDE VICTORY"

The date reads October 23rd, 2013. How did society build so fast? Did it even collapse? Was it just a false alarm? My head is pounding. I start to laugh in disbelief. Three decades of my life, all wasted on delusions of grandeur.